50 Derringers
by Celesma
Summary: Drabbles, ficlets, single shots... and an incontrovertible proof that I have no life.
1. There Are Worse Things

**There Are Worse Things**

The man was brimming with sweat, much in the manner of a jug that overflows with well-water.

He drained the flask Millie offered him, wiped his mouth on his sleeve. She noticed that there was a tiny gold crucifix on the cuff.

Her partner's attention, however, was drawn to the large metal prop strapped to his back.

"It must have been exhausting to walk with that cross," Meryl observed incredulously.

Nicholas D. Wolfwood peered back at her with just as much, if not more, astonishment.

"You think that's bad?" he asked after a moment. Then he grinned wolfishly (as per his name) and added:

"Try going without a cigarette for forty-eight hours."


	2. Her Name Is Millie

**Her Name Is Millie**

"So," Wolfwood continued to drawl lazily, "I've introduced myself. What are your names?"

"Meryl Stryfe," the short girl proffered.

"And I'm Millie," her statuesque partner added cheerfully. "We work for Bernardelli!"

"Huh. I've heard of them," Wolfwood said. His eyes emitted a twinkle that was quite unlike himself as he said, "Nice to meet you, Milly."

"No, it's _Millie_," she corrected him, though for what Meryl could not immediately discern. "With an 'ie,' not a 'y.' "

"Oh..." He quickly apologized.

"What was that all about?" Meryl asked her co-worker as the priest went to greet the man who had rescued him.

"Nothing, really," Millie said serenely.

"I just don't like it when people mispronounce my name."


	3. Not Just a Bike

**Not Just a Bike**

"I see you got your bike back," Vash remarked as the priest pulled out of the repair shop.

Wolfwood scowled. "I told you, it isn't just a bike. This is the _Angelina II –_ new and improved!" He climbed off, patted the seat affectionately.

Vash grinned. "It'd have to be, seeing how you totaled it!"

"Why you – " The preacher swiped at him, then drew back in resignation. "Just take a look at it."

Vash complied, inspecting the vehicle from all angles. At length he stopped and turned to stare at something on the back.

"Wow," the outlaw said, smiling to himself. "You really _are_ good at your trade."

Instead of a license plate, Wolfwood had attached a sign bearing the inscription:

POWERED BY JESUS


	4. He's That Good

**He's That Good**

"So how good are you?" Nick asked, palming the mug of beer the waitress had placed before him.

Vash stared at him, uncomprehending. "Huh?"

"At shooting," his friend said. "I heard you took down the Nebraska family with only six bullets."

The outlaw blinked, then grinned suddenly. "Aw, that ain't nothing.

"Watch this."

He retrieved a pack of cards from seemingly nowhere, flung them into the air; they scattered about the bar haphazardly.

"POW! POW! POW!"

Nick gathered them up. An expression of disbelief crossed his face as he noticed that each one had a perfect hole in the middle.

"How did you do that without a gun?" he sputtered.

Vash withdrew his finger, eyed him coolly.

"I hole punched them yesterday."


	5. Mean Uncle

A/N: This was based on an Internet rumor regarding Wolfwood's middle initial. I doubt that's what it really means, though.

* * *

**Mean Uncle**

"Don't be shy," the nun said to the boy. There were ten others like him in the July Relief Orphanage, and she wanted to make friends of them all.

"What's your name?"

"Nicholas D. Wolfwood," he replied steadily.

"Oh? And what's the D. stand for?"

Deep breath. _"Doko noku mino monja ware suma kini shite shizume taroka kora."_

Pause. "I don't speak Japanese," the nun said.

Violet graced his pale cheeks. "Neither do I. But my uncle always said that ought to be my middle name."

"He never told you what it meant?"

"Well," the boy said, considering briefly.

"One time, when he was drunk, he used to yell that I would be just like my father when I grew up – always smoking cigarettes and never getting anywhere for it. He told me that, in Japanese, the phrase meant 'daily cigarette consumption.' "

Miriam quickly decided she did not like this uncle.


	6. A Fan in Denial

**A Fan in Denial**

Zazie the Beast was about as euphoric as a school girl as he took in the newest issue of _The Amazing Spider-Man._ He dove into the pages earnestly, devoured the full-color adventures of the intrepid web-crawler as quickly as a starving man gulps down a meal.

He paused long enough in his enthusiasm to glance over at Monev the Gale, who was reclining on the couch and eating potato chips.

The first of the Gung-Ho Guns grunted noncommittally by way of a reply to the unspoken taunt:

_Dude, you have no idea what you're missing out on!_

"Yes, I do, and I'm damn glad of it," he said aloud. "Those comics are nothing but junk!"

"Screw off," Zazie said. He read the title out loud to himself: "Issue #300: _Spider-Man Meets Venom._ Sounds cool!"

Monev's head jerked suddenly, and a strange guttural sound escaped his throat: "Gurk!"

"Huh?" Zazie was confused by his reaction. "What'd you do that for?"

"Uh... nothing," the Hurricane Gale said after a beat. "Forget it."

Zazie shrugged, and for a minute or so there was silence.

"You know, you kind of look like this Venom dude," he remarked, flipping through the pages. Monev went through the motions of freaking out again.

Zazie was annoyed. "What is your pro – " he started to say, when it hit him.

"You like Spider-Man, don't you," he said. It wasn't a question.

"I do NOT!" Monev was on the verge of throwing a tantrum. "You lie!"

"You dress just like Venom," the Beast pointed out.

"S-so?" The Gale remained shakily defiant.

"You have fangs modeled after his."

"That doesn't mean anything – "

"Your name reads 'Venom' when spelled backwards!"

"I WAS _DRUNK_ WHEN I SIGNED THAT APPLICATION FORM!"

Zazie just walked away laughing, leaving an infuriated senior Gung-Ho Gun in his wake.


	7. It's Just Another Day

**It's Just Another Day**

Millie Thompson and Meryl Stryfe were just sitting down to breakfast when a spectacle occurred.

Outside, just beyond their window, a young man in a red coat – presumably Mister Vash, and the primary source of their grief – could be seen fleeing from a motley group of people. Among their number was a portly baker, a circus troupe, the local sheriff, and a bounty hunter who could have really used a shave.

"Insurance Girls!" Vash cried as he passed their room. "HEEEEEELLLLP MEEEEEEEEE!"

Meryl proceeded to hilariously lose her temper. Millie sipped her coffee and remarked casually:

"It's just another day, eh, Sempai?"


	8. Tell Me Another One

**Tell Me Another One**

"Oh, Nico-chan," Sister Miriam said, approaching the fifteen-year-old orphan with a congenial look on her face.

Nicholas sighed. Even though he had in puberty sustained a growth spurt that left him almost six feels tall, the nun had no problem treating him as though he were still a baby.

"You look glum. Would you like to hear a joke?"

He felt like rolling his eyes, but indulged her all the same. "Go ahead, Sister."

"All right!" she said, looking delighted. "Can you tell me what kind of man Boaz was before he married Ruth?"

"I can't imagine."

"He was... RUTHLESS! Get it?" The nun burst into laughter upon hearing her own joke. "Oh, I kill me," she said after a moment, wiping away a tear of merriment.

"Me too," Nicholas said. He couldn't help the smile that came to his face; it _was_ kinda cute.

In fact...

"Tell me another one."


	9. Ghost

**Ghost**

"Kniiiiiives!" Vash's voice echoed in the halls, giving it an unnatural, tinny quality. Moments later he appeared before the Bulb Knives had been studying.

"Yes, brother?"

"I... I was in the cold-sleep chambers and I saw... I saw a real live GHOST!" Vash punched the air for emphasis.

Knives blinked. "_Right._ And, correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't 'live ghost' an oxymoron?"

"Not funny," Vash groaned. "And besides, I thought you were into fairy tales...?"

"Th-that's just how Rem helps me sleep at night!" Knives sputtered.

"Let's hear one, then – "

The blonde girl smiled as she watched, from a distance, the twins breathlessly exchange their stories.


	10. Masquerade

A/N: This is a retelling of the aftermath of the battle with the Puppetmaster, complete with manga spoilers (and _Phantom of the Opera _references; hence the title). Most of the dialogue is taken straight from the manga; the descriptions are by me.

* * *

**Masquerade**

Nicholas analyzed the white room he and the Needle Noggin had ended up in with more than a little discontent. The last thing he remembered, before submitting to the darkness, was facing off against that sonuvabitch Grey the Ninelives in the bowels of the City of Mist.

Now he was in a bed, wearing a hospital gown and bandages, and growing increasingly confused as to why he wasn't yet dead.

"Where the hell is my Punisher?" he asked, to no avail.

"WOLFWOOD!" a voice screamed in his ear. The priest double-taked in shock, then in consternation as the elated face of the Stampede filled his view.

"Have you never heard of personal space?" he growled, shrugging off Vash's attempts to envelope him in a hug. "I'm broken in about a million places, here!"

"Sorry," his traveling companion said sheepishly. He no longer sported his signature red trenchcoat – having dropped it in favor of a matching hospital gown – and his spikey hair had regressed into what could be only called a bad hair day. "Are you all right?"

"Um, what did I just say?" Wolfwood's feigned annoyance was broken as a young girl burst into the room, precariously balancing a tray of donuts in both her arms. The effort looked too much for her, and Wolfwood said as much.

"Hey, kid. Let me come over there and help you with – "

"OH, CRUD!" the girl cried as the whole thing toppled onto the priest's lap; his chest rose and fell painfully under the weight of the ceramic platter, and he fought to restrain a curse.

"You okay, girl?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," she replied. Then she caught sight of Wolfwood (as well as of the blond outlaw on his lap gorging himself with pastries) and issued a panicked apology.

"I'm SO SORRY, Wolfwood-san!" She turned around and promptly tripped over her shoelaces. "I'll bring you another plate – _owwie..."_

"Calm down, you're gonna hurt yourself," Wolfwood said, without much success. He shoved Vash out of his bed, found himself staring at the girl's departing back. "Well, at least she _means_ well, right?"

"Yeah," Vash replied. "Jessica's a sweet girl."

Wolfwood leaned back against the soft pillows and sighed. "That was one hell of a fight, wasn't it."

"Yeah," Vash said, more unhappy than he had seen him thus far. "But... so many people died... and I lost Emilio." His last words were spoken in such a way as to imply a grave failure on his part.

"Who the hell is Emilio?" Wolfwood asked. Then: "Never mind that, you're saying inhabitants were killed?"

Vash nodded; his features remained shadowed.

"Thank you," he said after a moment.

Nicholas gazed at him, stunned.

Then his sarcastic mien returned in full force: "For your information, Mister Love and Peace, I killed. I murdered. I'm nothing like these people here – " he gestured to the other beds in which the elderly were sleeping off illness – "and yet you can actually be _grateful? _Bastard."

The Tongari returned his stare sadly, replied:

"I'm saying... thank you. Because you spilled blood, you prevented any other innocents from being killed. I couldn't have done it without you."

Wolfwood suddenly felt very ashamed, though his expression didn't change. It was too familiar, reminded him of the sensations of guilt and regret he'd been experiencing all throughout his fight with the Ninelives.

_The children..._

_Hey, Nico-san!_

_Sorry, but..._

_It would appear I'm no longer fit to hold you guys._

As though he could discern the priest's thoughts, the Stampede shot him a sympathetic look. "I've burdened you with my own feelings. I'm sorry."

"Feh." As far as Wolfwood was concerned, it was too late for apologies.

Vash exhaled sadly at the rebuff, then turned over in his bed. He neither moved nor spoke, evidently lost in his own private world.

_...Okay, so maybe I'm being a little harsh on him,_ the priest mentally amended. _He did risk life and limb to save everyone._ He glanced around the room, looking for his Punisher. If it turned out that one of the residents had confiscated it, he swore he was gonna –

_What's this?_ he wondered as his eyes suddenly alit on something else altogether. It was small.

It was a locket.

Wolfwood glanced furtively at Vash, saw that he wasn't stirring, and swiftly picked up the object. The clumsy girl must have dropped in her well-intentioned but ultimately misguided attempt to serve him breakfast. He opened it.

Music floated out – his first indication that he should probably just close the thing before he was caught – but he found he couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight that greeted him, in the form of a photo:

It was Vash.

Or to be more specific, it was Vash bracketing the form of a small girl in his arms while smiling for a camera.

_Wait. Is that Jessica? ...But how? Looking at Tongari, I'd swear this was taken yesterday... he doesn't look any older now than he does here._

This was getting weird. Just what kind of mess had Nicholas D. Wolfwood gotten himself into when he decided to follow Vash the Stampede?

_To hell with it,_ he decided after a moment. _I need a smoke._

But he realized he recognized the song that was playing, and absurdly mouthed the lyrics to himself in lieu of unceremoniously demanding a cigarette.

_"Masquerade... paper faces on parade... masquerade..._

_"Hide your face so the world will never find you."_


	11. More Than Just Friends?

**More Than Just Friends?**

"We apologize for the temporary inconvenience," a bored female voice announced via intercom, "but the Mei Route Bus has been delayed for an indefinite period of time due to unforeseen circumstances."

"And what might those be?" Meryl asked to no one in particular.

"Toma crossing, Ma'am," Millie replied, unperturbed. She looked out the window and waved as the beasts lumbered by in no diminutive number.

"Great," Meryl groaned. "And we stopped to pick up that priest guy, so now we're going to arrive even later than conjectured. The chief will dock our pay for sure." She suddenly felt like hitting someone. "Where's Vash?"

The big girl was on a roll. "Next to Priest Guy!" she chirped. "They're sleeping," she added, as an afterthought. She gestured to the seat behind her.

Meryl looked, then fought to suppress a laugh.

"Geez, I knew they were friendly, but this is ridiculous."

The two men, as it were, had fallen asleep in a rather embarrassing position. Vash had his head on Wolfwood's chest, drooling liberally onto the priest's lapel. Nicholas, in turn, had his arms curled about the outlaw's lithe form, as if snuggling a teddy bear.

"Should we wake them up?" Millie asked.

"One second," the shorter girl said. She retrieved a purse out of nowhere, began hastily fumbling through its contents. "Now where – ? Oh, here it is," she said, pulling out a Polaroid camera.

_SNAP!_

"Oh, I'm gonna _treasure_ this moment," Meryl said, before erupting into maniacal cackles.


	12. I Think, Therefore I Hurt

**I Think, Therefore I Hurt**

A tall man sporting a crimson trenchcoat, a wild haircut, and a demeanor that suggests Ace Gunman sinks into the recliner.

He sighs pleasurably, as his muscles have been aching from the self-administered torture session otherwise known as Training To Get Really Really Good At What I Do. Now he is showered and dressed, and he is going to take a nap.

But not before imparting the philosophical fruits of his three-second meditation on Life and Love...

"We are all like raindrops falling from the sky," he intones somberly, "eventually landing on this sandy star and drying up from the heat of the sun.

"Even if protected by a huge umbrella, we never know what tomorrow may bring. Someday we will be blown by the wind and absorbed into the sandy – "

He is never able to conclude this entirely meaningful train of thought, as a stray sneaker smacks him in the head.

"MISTER VASH!" a voice portending certain doom bellows from beyond the door. Meryl Stryfe appears moments later.

"What did I tell you about waxing philosophic?" the short girl cries. She looks on, unsympathetic, as the man known as Vash whimpers in pain. "You were supposed to get groceries over an hour ago! Move your butt!"

"YES MA'AM!"


	13. The Girl Can Rock

**The Girl Can Rock**

It was nine o' clock in the morning when Vash insisted that he was thirsty and that they (meaning Meryl, Millie, and himself) go to the pub. Ordinarily Meryl would have rejected his request but for her big co-worker, who whined that she could really use some pudding as well.

So to the pub they went.

"Wow!" Vash said, eyeing a pretty young thing that was serving drinks to a group of bikers. "Look at the rack on _that_ one...!"

"Quit staring, you pervert!" Meryl cried, cuffing him one – then two, then three – on the head for good measure. "This is why you're a joke among women! You don't treat us with any respect."

Vash rubbed his sore head. "Now that's not very nice, Insurance Girl..."

"The truth isn't always nice!" she retorted.

"Oh, my goodness!" Millie suddenly cried out before the argument could escalate any further. "Look, you two! This pub has a DDR!"

"You mean _Dance Dance Revolution_? The gaming platform phenomenon that comprises roughly a fourth of this planet's Lost Technology?" Meryl began to say, but her question was drowned out by the sound of Vash squealing:

_"Ohmigod let me dance I wanna dance first please please please – "_

_"Shut up!"_ Meryl yelled, punching the outlaw. "I was trying to ask something."

"What do you care about dancing?" Vash smirked childishly as an even bigger lump manifested on his noggin. "In fact, what do you _know_ about it? I bet you have two left feet!"

"I do not!" the short girl replied obstinately. As if to prove a point, she stepped up onto the dance machine. "Millie, how much?"

"One double dollar... but, ma'am, can you really dance?"

Meryl grinned. "Just watch."

She fed the money into the machine, then chose a song.

She pointedly ignored Vash's snickers as she began to move in time to the music.

"One, two, three, four; one, two, three, four..." she counted rhythmically as she shuffled her feet onto the corresponding arrows. She did not miss one step.

_Ready for the big time, ready for the small  
Whatever's comin' to me I'll be ready for it all  
Sometimes it ain't easy, sometimes it's not polite  
Some days I don't get it, some days I get it right_

_It's in my heart  
It's in my head  
That's what I said_

After a while of this, Millie started laughing and dancing herself. Vash, for his part, simply stared at Meryl's gyrating form and whistled appreciatively.

"Damn. The girl can rock."


	14. I Fell Off the Wagon

**I Fell Off the Wagon**

Millions Knives, self-appointed exterminator of the human race and zealous environmental activist, was currently facing a substantial impediment to his personal comfort.

He could not find the remote.

"Legato!" he called as he wandered down the corridors of his private mansion. "Now, I know you like to watch TV while you're on the treadmill, but must you take the remote as well?"

"Oh!" came a muffled voice from the workout room; presumably it was Bluesummers. "Is that you, Knives-sama?"

"You're psychic, aren't you? Listen, I'm coming in."

"No, don't – " the voice began, but it was too late.

As Knives entered, he found himself staring down a blue-haired man who had apparently consumed a lot of chocolate. Candy bar wrappers littered the floor, as well as empty cartons of ice cream and half-eaten Twinkies. Legato's face was smeared with Auntie Ann pretzel dough.

"Legato. I thought you were on Jenny Craig?" Knives asked incredulously.

The telepath looked up at him through tear-streaked bangs. "Forgive my human iniquities, Master.

"I fell off the wagon."


	15. Switching Places

**Switching Places**

Kite knew little about the way of things in Meldreck, and even less about the way they handled Steamer repairs; but he was nonetheless determined to make the best of the situation.

Even if it _did_ involve working with a girl.

"James Perez," he said slowly, reading aloud from the dirtied piece of paper she had shoved into his hands. "But isn't that a guy's name...?"

J.P. – as she was better known – smirked at him. "Unisex. Few people know that, surprisingly." Her tone bore a fiery edge befitting of a redhead, despite the fact that her clothes were coated in grease and ash.

"Weird," Kite said flatly.

His new partner ignored him, turned toward the winding, steam-shadowed stairway that led down into the heat-gen chamber. "Come on," she threw over her shoulder when he didn't follow right away.

Kite groaned and obeyed.

Subservient to a girl.

What would his father have thought?


	16. A Crossover, of Sorts

**A Crossover, of Sorts**

"Pika!"

"Kweh!"

"Kupo!"

"Chu-chu!"

"A-_hem_."

One furry knuckle rapped smartly on the coffee table, its owner slightly chagrined that he was unable to properly wield a judge's hammer and thereby restore order among his comrades in a more officious manner.

While serving as the Guardian of the Clow Seal did have its perks, size wasn't one of them.

"Will this meeting of the League of Extraordinarily Cute Japanese Creatures henceforth be initiated," Kerberos-sama stated.

"Kuroneko, I trust you are recording the minutes?" he continued as he put on his reading glasses.

_"Nyao."_

"Very good. Well then, on to the business at hand..."


	17. Sempai, We Have a Problem

**Sempai, We Have a Problem**

With a flourish designed to put even the best English professor to shame, Meryl Stryfe finally concluded the Fris Report. It had taken her three hours to do it, but done it she had. She sighed, began to stretch languorously.

Millie, meanwhile, was unobtrusively seated in the corner, taking phone calls and dutifully scribbling on a clipboard. As Meryl watched her statuesque partner work, she allowed herself an inward smile.

Perhaps Millie had found her niche after all.

Such hopes were quickly dispelled, however, as she caught a snatch of the current discourse Millie was oh-so-happily engaging in:

"Hello, you've reached the December jurisdiction of the Bernardelli Insurance Society. May I ask who's... oh, what's that? Three pounds of chocolate? I'm very sorry, sir, we don't carry that. No, no pudding either, and if anyone knows that best it's me. I've tried my darnedest to get some in here, but the chief says – "

Meryl sweated grapes. "Give me that!" she cried, lunging wildly for the phone. Millie passed it to her.

"Hello? _Hello?_ ...No, this is not the Ghirardelli Chocolate Company! It's _Bernardelli!_ BERNARDELLI!"

Millie maintained a safe distance, silently admiring her sempai's efforts to promote clarity in the workplace.

But she couldn't shake off the feeling that when this was over, she would be in trouble again.

"Oh, _yeah_? WELL SAME TO YOU BUSTER! NEXT TIME GET A HEARING AID!"

_SLAM._


	18. The Serenity Prayer

**The Serenity Prayer**

Outside her window the sky was rapidly transitioning to twilight, summoning forth the moon and her children; and as though on cue, Millie Thompson retrieved a pencil and paper.

She sat down and began to write. As she did so, she felt compelled to once more review the day's events.

It had been a good one, she thought. Up to a point.

_Dear God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change._

Nicholas puffing away on a cigarette.

Yelling at Vashu-san for inhaling the bagels and grape juice he'd intended for the children's Eucharist.

Kissing her full on the lips, imbuing the whole of her – from the top of her head to the bottom of her double-stitched sand boots – with sensations of smoke and ash and _fire._

It spoke of Love. Surely he knew something about it.

_Grant me the courage to change the things I can._

Vash coaxing the child toward him, his expression as honest and hopeful as Zazie's was not. His arms opening, as if in an unconscious embrace.

Pastor-san looking horrified, helpless to rescue him.

Shouldering his Punisher, features marked with decisiveness.

Her crying out "NO!" only to be rewarded by the sound of gunfire eclipsing her own screams.

The fire was once more ignited, but in a different way. It was bad. For a moment she watched, dumbstruck, as the unquenchable flames issued forth from the ground, culminating in an ile-wide crater.

Then she blinked, and it was gone.

All that was left was a preacher in good standing, both with her and the ones who knew him.

But he would not hesitate to kill a child.

_Grant me the wisdom to know the difference._

Was it possible? Could she change him? Millie didn't presume to know the answer. She was scared of him, yes, but more so was she scared FOR him. Scared that the answer was no, that he would always be like this, that she was foolish and arrogant and ambitious to believe otherwise.

_Please prove me wrong, Nicholas,_ she wrote without intending to.

There was a small measure of comfort to be had in knowing that while the circumstances always changed, the Prayer remained the same.

_Amen._


	19. 1000 Needles

**1000 Needles**

"Millones, I'm thirsty. And hungry," a boy who looked to be ten complained from his vantage point upon the rock. The twin suns cast his shadow against the length of the cliffs.

"Did I mention I'm hot? I musta sweat off, like, ten pounds in the last hour."

"Stop whining," his twin replied lazily. His right eyelid drooped: a barely concealed gesture of ire. "And I told you, my name isn't Millones anymore. It's Millions Knives."

Tears formed in the other's eyes. "It's a stupid name. Knives hurt people. Just like – " He glanced about, searching for an object on the desert landscape with which to draw a suitable comparison.

"Needles," his companion offered at length.

"Wha – ?"

"No, Vash," Knives explained patiently. "I mean there's needles on this plant. Come take a look."

"I don't wanna," Vash said petulantly; but all the same he hunkered down to peer at what seemed, upon first glance, to be a juicy pickle. "What is it?"

"Cactus," Knives said. He sounded proud of himself. "They're plants that store water in the desert. Moth – Rem – told me about them."

"Huh," Vash said. He was silent for long moments, caught between bubbling over with sorrow at the mention of their deceased caretaker and asking how they could draw water from the plant. Knives evidently had the same idea, for he replied:

"I've been training my Talent. I'll get the water out, you just wait and see."

Vash sighed deeply, felt a familiar medley of misery, anger, hatred, and fear pass over him once more. He averted his head so that Knives would not see him cry.

The older twin, however, was too immersed in examining the plant to notice. Suddenly he let out a little gasp that necessitated fright and awe.

"Brother, look at this! It's _moving_!"

And indeed it was. Something resembling an appendage, in fact, sprouted from the cactus's torso; its beady eyes swept over Knives's form with restlessness. It flung up its one arm, as in self-defense.

"I don't remember Rem saying anything about – OH MY GOD HELP ME!"

Vash's tears turned into those of laughter as he watched the Cactaur mercilessly shoot a volley of needles into his brother's face.


	20. A Decisive Victory

**A Decisive Victory**

At some point where the planet's horizon line and the deep blue skies intertwine and become indistinguishable, two stomachs were pitted against each another in the ultimate battle of wills.

Vash unhinged his jaw and swallowed a slice of banana cream pie whole; it looked to be his fifth and final piece. He leaned back in his chair, pretended to fidget with the napkin around his neck while Millie struggled through her fourth dish.

"I'm rootin' for you, baby!" Nicholas called from somewhere within the crowd of onlookers. Millie put down her fork and waved to him.

"You really are a terrorist priest," Meryl sighed as she stole up behind him. "Didn't you bet all your bus fare that Vash would win?"

"...Oh, yeah. GO NEEDLE NOGGIN!"

But it was too late. Millie suddenly found the strength within herself to devour not only the fourth piece of pie, but also a fifth and a sixth.

A shocking comeback, one that Vash couldn't beat.

The gunman turned pale. Swallowed. Reached into the pan for another piece.

He managed to take two bites before conceding defeat. Slumping in his seat, he belched loudly and long enough that everyone in the immediate vicinity had to jam a finger in his ear to clear the ringing.

"I WIN!" Millie cried triumphantly. Bits of strawberry shortcake and other sundry desserts littered her dress. "So you know what I get now?"

Vash groaned sickly (though whether it stemmed from being a sore loser or true nausea was difficult to tell) and handed over the prize. The victor accepted them with a whoop of glee.

"Three pudding cups!"


	21. Nothing to be Ashamed of

**Nothing to be Ashamed Of**

Dahlia O'Connor, licensed psychiatrist of the city of Little Jersey, eyed Legato Bluesummers with what she hoped was an appropriately sympathetic expression.

"And how long would you say this behavior has been going on?" she asked, diligently taking notes as the psychic hazarded a guess of two or three years.

"Damn it, woman," Knives snarled, watching the exchange occur from an adjacent sofa. "This diagnosis has taken well over an hour. Deliver the verdict before I lose my patience and destroy you."

"I'm already done, Sir," Dahlia answered, unmoved. She turned to face Legato.

"I'm afraid you have an eating disorder."

"A WHAT?" Knives cried, turning three shades of red. While Dahlia nodded solemnly, the Plant thundered:

"Legato, what were you _thinking?_ Do you have any idea how this will affect our reputation?"

"Now now, Mister Knives. An eating disorder is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of..."

"Like hell it isn't! What if one of the Gung-Ho Guns gets wind of this? Midvalley would never let it go!" Knives slapped his forehead in exasperation.

"Well, the good news is that it's an entirely treatable condition," Dahlia replied. "How do you plan to counteract this, Legato?"

The telepath shrugged and bit into a Tollhouse cookie.


	22. Think of Me

A/N: Whoo, I'm on a _Phantom_ kick for some reason. Also, I do not own the song "Think of Me."

* * *

**Think of Me**

Certainly there were many things Meryl tended to covet in her best friend. Things like brawn, brains and the disposition of an angel (especially since popular opinion maintained that Meryl was the opposite).

Still, it didn't lesson her surprise by one jot when she discovered that Millie could sing as well.

Despite her awkward appearance that gave many over to thinking that she was a hulking man-girl of some sort, Millie had a lovely soprano voice that could charm the feathers off a Toma. When she returned from her strenuous work down at the wells each evening, she could often be heard crooning a nursery rhyme or an old Quaker hymn, swinging her shovel in merry anticipation of dinner.

Speaking of which...

Meryl hurried to scoop spaghetti out of the simmering pot, began setting places at the small table with a speed that belied her unusually calm demeanor these past few days. She didn't have say it; everyone in town understood the source of her anxiety.

She was worried about Vash.

Millie sauntered through the doorway, barely missed bumping her head on the low incline that tried to pass for a ceiling. She was sweaty and grimy, to be sure; but she was also singing a song, one that Meryl had never heard before.

It was pretty, she thought.

Millie went into the shower, still singing. She seemed completely oblivious to the smell that wafted out of the kitchen, enveloping the house like a comforting blanket.

_Think of me  
Think of me fondly  
When we've said goodbye  
Remember me  
Once in a while  
Please promise me you'll try_

_On that day_  
_ That not so distant day_  
_ When you are far away and free_  
_ If you ever find a moment_  
_ Stop and think of me._

Meryl sighed, knew beyond a shadow of a doubt who she was singing to.

She still had a question of her own, however. She glanced up wistfully, met the big girl's eyes as she came out wearing her bathrobe.

"Millie, do you think he..."

She couldn't finish; tears blurred her vision.

Millie drew her friend into a warm embrace.

"Every day, Sempai. I'm sure of it."


	23. What's Love Got to Do With It?

**What's Love Got to Do With It?**

"You say that you and Legato live together?" Dahlia asked.

"What has that to do with anything?" Knives said, trying to affect an air of intimidation, but he merely sounded whiny. So he just sighed and nodded.

Apparently satisfied with this answer, the psychiatrist leveled her probing gaze elsewhere.

"And Mister Bluesummers, you claim to admire Mister Knives?"

"I would give up my life for him in an instant," the telepath affirmed calmly. He glanced at the cookie crumbs on his lap, as if sorrowful that he had consumed them so quickly.

"Uh-huh. Uh-huh." Dahlia scribbled down more notes, murmuring: _"Says to have eleven other brothers and sisters, all of whom feel the same way for Millions Knives..."_

"Um, that would be Gung-Ho Guns, not siblings," Knives interjected arrogantly. "And they all pretty much hate me."

After a moment of taking notes, Dahlia looked at him and asked: "Mister Knives, did it ever occur to you that all people are to be regarded with an equal amount of respect?"

If it wasn't for the polite and inoffensive tone in which she said it, Knives would have been sorely tempted to blow her away to kingdom come right then and there.

"How dare you try to raise such a discussion, you puny little spider," he snarled.

"See, that's what I mean," Dahlia said. "You refer to everyone outside of your immediate family as spiders – "

"I just SAID they weren't related – "

"And you won't give Mister Bluesummers the love and affirmation he needs in order to function like a normal human being," Dahlia continued, as if she hadn't heard. "Even though he adores you. My advice is to start acting a little more other-oriented, Sir, and nip the narcissism in the bud before it's too late."

There were so many things wrong with that statement... a deep, penetrating sob, however, forestalled Knives's furious reaction.

"It's – so – _TRUE!_" Legato cried, dabbing at his nose with a hankie.


	24. What They'd Never Say

A/N: Run for your life! It's the dreaded SCRIPT FORM!

* * *

**What They'd Never Say**_  
_

_(To appease a group of bandits in Karsted Town, _VASH_ condescends to their demands to strip and act like a dog. Despite _LINA's _screams of protest, he slowly begins to disrobe, revealing a series of horrific scars that run down the length of his muscular body.)_

**WOLFWOOD:**  
_(removing his sunglasses as he watches from the bar window) _Holy crap. This is hot. Yeah, that's it... go ahead, take it allll off; show me those beauty marks, Tongari... _(hears _LINA_ sobbing by his side and hastily replaces his glasses)_ ...uh – um – I mean, don't cry little girl! Everything'll be all right... damn. I hate kids.

_(Cut to much later. _VASH_ has just killed _LEGATO._ He writhes in agony, crying over his perceived sins. Suddenly _LEGATO_ leaps from his resting place with a goofy grin.)_

**LEGATO:**  
Psych! I'm not really dead! _(laughs as _VASH_ looks on in shock)_ Gotcha, didn't I?

_(Repeat the scene. _LEGATO_ leaps from the ground but is met with a different reaction.)_

**VASH:**  
OH MY GOD A ZOMBIE! _(whacks the telepath on the head, kills him this time)_

_(Cut to new scene. _VASH_ has just donned his coat and glasses, prepared to engage _KNIVES_ in a final, decisive struggle. As he does so, _MILLIE_ and _MERYL_ emerge from the house; _MILLIE_ is carrying the Punisher, while _MERYL_ just looks scared for his safety.)_

**MILLIE:**  
I think Mister Priest would want you to have this, Mister Vash.

**VASH:**  
Hey, thanks. _(takes the proffered Cross, finds himself sagging underneath it)_ It's heavy...

**MILLIE:**  
_(big smile)_ That's because it's so full of bricks!

**MERYL:**  
Uh, Millie, I think you mean mercy.

**MILLIE:**  
That too. Well, see ya! _(puts on her construction worker's hat and walks away whistling)_

**MERYL:**  
Vash, I have a confession.

**VASH:**  
What's that?

**MERYL:**  
I'm madly in love with you.

**VASH:**  
Cool. When I come back, let's get married and have sex on a bar.

**MERYL:**  
Sure thing. I'll go get the green-and-white thong.

**VASH:**  
_(miffed) _I meant in that order!


	25. Tainted Donuts

A/N: This was inspired by an AMV of the same name. Look it up on Youtube; not only is it brilliantly edited, it's hilarious!

* * *

**Tainted Donuts**

Vash was fond of the sensation of hip-hop music blaring in one's ears – doubly so if one was allowed to dance to it without being immediately stifled by other, more respectable people.

Like the short Insurance Girl.

_I swear that Meryl's one joy in life is harassing me,_ the outlaw griped, before turning up the volume on his walkman and letting his thoughts drift elsewhere.

He was nearing the end of his favorite song, "Suroi Yami No Naka," when a large box of sweets caught his eye.

"Goody! Donuts!" Vash squealed, his interest in the music waning as quickly as his nostrils detected the scent of lemon-filled pastries and bright pink sprinkles. He immediately pounced upon the package, not devoting a thought whatsoever as to why it had been so conveniently left out in the dirt. He began packing away its contents. "Mmmm... so _good..."_

"Looks like our plan worked, Jet," a voice piped up from somewhere behind him. "And after weeks of searching, all it took was a box of donuts and a couple of cheap nanotransmitters to nab him."

"Yeah, yeah, Spike; a real heartbreaker, I know. But now that you've got him in your sights, why don't you focus on capturing him?" an older, slightly muffled voice replied.

Vash whirled around, still clutching the box. He gawked when he found a gun pointed in his face; its wielder seemed oddly composed despite the automatic, imminent threat of death he represented.

"I don't think I need to explain why I'm here," Spike said, firing a warning shot.

"Oh, _crap,_" the outlaw said, and without another word he turned and rushed off in the opposite direction.


	26. Foiled!

**Foiled!**

Meryl's heart pounded as though bordering on the edge of implosion; a bowel-twisting, gut-wrenching fear gripped her as she raced through the rooms of the cabin; she could hear the clicking and whirring of blades and other horrible devices as clearly as if she were wielding them herself.

At length she found herself cowering in the closet, absolutely at the mercy of her brother-in-law... and she knew then, with a sinking desperate feeling, that there would be none.

The door was jarred from its hinges. In its place stood Millions Knives, with about as many of the aforementioned weapons sprouting from his arms like daisies in a field.

The comparison may have been laughable, but the look in his eyes wasn't.

"Ready to die, human?" Knives asked, a cruel smirk playing about the edge of his lips. His Angel Blades bristled, as if in anticipation of the kill.

Meryl squeezed her eyes shut. _Vash, everyone... I'm sorry...  
_

"Bad Knives!" a voice boomed from above, and Millie Thompson suddenly descended through a hole in the ceiling, wearing her PJ's and looking for all the world like a disgruntled angel. She held a curled-up newspaper in her left hand and a pint of ice cream in her right.

"We do _not_ endanger the life of Mister Vash's love interest, y'hear – ? I said, DO YOU HEAR ME?" she repeated, for Knives was eying her gigantic frame with an expression that suggested absolute shock. "I'm going to have to punish you!"

And with that, she turned Knives over her knee and began to spank him.

No more attempts were made on Meryl's life.


	27. Even in Death

**Even in Death**

I stand there, watching the rise and fall of his chest. His breaths are even, and his composition is like that of a child in peaceful slumber.

How very befitting a murderer.

The rock is in my hands, poised to strike. I will hit him in the skull, hard enough that blood and brains will gush forth –

_No one has the right to take the life of another._

Rem? Is... is that you, Rem?

Rem... I want to, but I can't. I can't kill Knives.

I put down the rock, my purposes unfulfilled but my heart strangely at peace.

When you died, Rem, I thought I'd lost you.

But you were inside of me all along.


	28. She's Too Young for You

**She's Too Young for You**

"Let me get this straight," Knives murmured, his composed expression broken only by his internal ruminations. "You're 131 years old, and she's..."

"23," Vash supplied uneasily.

"Right. All fine and good. _But _– " the older twin allowed himself an uncharacteristic grin – "isn't it somewhat analogous to a fifty-year-old man taking a child for his wife?"

"Don't even_ joke!"_ Vash blushed furiously. "I love Meryl, and nothing you say will change that."

"Come on," Knives purred, placing a callused hand upon his twin's unreceptive shoulder. "You need to see people... your own age."

Vash screamed and departed; and Knives erupted into ribald cackles.


	29. A Sincere Apology

**A Sincere Apology**

The big girl watched and waved as the couple sped off in their beat-up Jeep; despite their meager share of food and money, Julius and Moore looked as ecstatic as if they were embarking on their honeymoon. They were finally free.

She sniffed once, then turned back to join her group. It consisted of herself, Vash, Meryl, and Wolfwood.

Millie had certainly gotten herself into a whole mess of trouble, with or without the help of Sempai. Not only had she aided the two refugees in their escape from Fondrique (yet it'd been for love, she reminded herself) but she'd also let her temper get the best of her and hurt Vashu-san (which had been for... well... nothing good that she could think of)!

The gunslinger was at that moment trying to mend the pair of glasses that Nicholas, bless him, had stepped on in a fit of righteous indignation. He placed one lens into the hopelessly crooked frame, groaned when it popped out and disappeared under a clump of sand.

Millie dug it out for him, and their eyes met briefly. He looked away as he accepted it, his features marked with sheepishness.

"Mister Vash," she began, feeling suddenly and uncharacteristically timid, "I'm so very sorry that I punched you... I... "

He looked at her quizzically, and nervousness made her brusque. She blurted:

"I shouldn't have thought you would kill anyone, not for one second! I should have known you would find another way to make everything right, that no one would have to die – "

He placed a finger to her lips, surprising her enough that she actually stopped to inhale.

"You're a good kid," was all he said; but it was enough to communicate that all was forgiven.

Impulsively, she leaned forward and kissed the swollen place on his cheek. Mister Vash, for his part, turned red and made several unintelligible noises as she did so – all cues which suggested that this was highly improper conduct. She didn't care.

Her apathy only increased as Mister Priest, who was standing some fifty feels away, shot the gunman an absolutely withering look.


	30. Material Girl

**Material Girl**

Brilliant Dynamites Neon had huddled the hostages into a stuffy boiler room – primarily for convenience, and secondarily because he enjoyed gauging the look of horror that spread on their faces as he related to them his plans for crashing the _Flourish._

As soon as he had left the room, the sandsteamer's passengers began whispering feverishly amongst themselves.

"That's it," Meryl groaned, only vaguely cognizant of their impending doom. "When this is all over, I am going to get _myself _that Prada purse."

Moments later a crewman burst into the room; but instead of attempting to untie them, as expected, he began babbling in an unknown language. Millie hastily translated for the others.

"Not only will the steamer crash, it turns out that our portion of the ship will explode first!" she cried. "There's no help for it!"

"Along with a pair of Fendi shoes – " Meryl droned on.

"VASH THE STAMPEDE!" the crewman tearfully interjected in English; the hostages made the connection and began to panic harder still.

" – and a Gucci wallet," Meryl concluded, before passing out.


	31. Sartre in a Nutshell

**Sartre in a Nutshell**

Vash watched as his real arm jerked forward, the barrel of his .45 level with the telepath's forehead.

Legato gazed at him with a perpetually bored expression as the gunslinger's finger moved – not of his own volition, but Legato's – and cocked back the trigger.

"Don't make me do this," Vash pleaded, his wrist developing a nearly spasmodic tremble; tears flowed down his cheeks freely. "Don't make me shoot you! There has to be another way!"

"Still quoting _her,_ I see," the psychic murmured by way of reply. His disgust was such that he refused to identify Rem by name. "You hate me, but you won't destroy me. You have allowed your superior body and intellect to become a host for her aggravating logic. Truly a tragedy."

"Please... I want to save you... "

"Save me?" The telepath's brow creased in confusion for the first time. "But whatever from? You don't seem to understand that, in my eyes, you and your kind are as gods. When I serve your brother, I feel as much joy as a Christian does worshiping his _abba_... but on the same token, my life is pointless because I cannot choose for myself; and eventually, it ends in oblivion. So you see, it doesn't matter how I die." Blue tufts of hair fell forward as he pondered further. "I dare say that you killing me _would_ amount to being saved – if only from my self-imposed servitude."

"Shut up! None of it is true; none of it has to be as you say – "

Meryl and Millie, their hands and feet bound, whimpered a little as the brainwashed villagers began kicking them. Vash grew even more desperate as he bid for their freedom.

"It isn't this way merely because I say so," Legato said, "it simply _is_. At least learn to stand on your own two feet and walk, as your brother did so long ago."

"THAT'S ENOUGH...!"

A gunshot rang out, and Legato Bluesummers succumbed to death.

But even as he did so, he endeavored to impart one final word of wisdom to the prodigal brother:

_Aanuhin ko ang buhay na kontrolado ng iba?_

What use have I for a life governed by another?

Somewhere far away, Knives heard these words and laughed.


	32. A Most Unusual Predicament

**A Most Unusual Predicament**

The thirteenth and most powerful Gung-Ho Gun went by the name Elendira the Crimsonnail. This denoted not only his/her recent change in wardrobe (formerly s/he had been known by the masculine and infinitely more boring name "Elend"), but also his/her deadly proclivity for impaling foes with myriad blood-tipped nails.

Said Gun was currently helping his/herself to a glass of wine, inside the Single Shot Saloon – one of Leggie-chan's old haunts, if s/he recalled correctly.

At length a man came swaggering up – obviously intoxicated, by the looks of him. He placed a meaty hand on Elendira's pert A-cup, squeezed hard. A soft moan escaped from his parted lips.

_"Get your hands off my woman!"_

Two extremely astonished pairs of eyes came to settle on the seething form of Legato Bluesummers.


	33. Bringing Home the Bacon

**Bringing Home the Bacon**

Meryl paced the hallway in front of her office, her thoughts given over to scenarios far worse than any she had ever envisioned while working with the Humanoid Typhoon. On the one hand, Meryl missed her relatives greatly; on the other, she remembered that there was actually a _reason_ as to why she hadn't written them in over two years.

_I got the letter a week ago... maybe they won't come... oh God, I hope so ..._

Fate had not a mind to treat her gently, however.

The Stryfe clan pulled up in a full-size Chevy that day. They went straight into her cottage, disrupting items and tracking mud. Had they been anyone other than her country bumpkin family, Meryl knew she would have been simply enraged.

As it was, the short girl was resigned to listening to her cousin Jebediah regale her with fishing tales; cooking cornbread and baked beans with Mama; and watching as a little girl with an overbite slammed a cowboy hat on her husband's head.

"So, d'ya bring home the bacon?" her aunt Mia asked Vash at one point.

"Wha, what?" As far as Vash could tell, pigs were rare on Gunsmoke, and bacon was difficult to come by.

"It's an expression," Meryl explained slowly, taking care to avoid her husband's confused gaze. "It... it means do you have a job."

"Do I have a job?" His eyes grew sparkly. "But of course! I'm the Hunter of Peace – "

"A _hunter_, you say!" Mia cackled in delight. "I oughta marry you myself!" Before she could intrude upon Vash's personal space, however, Meryl quickly steered her away.

"Isn't it wonderful to catch up with family, Sempai?" Millie asked with an innocent grin on her face. Meryl groaned and murmured:

"Maybe for a Yankee."


	34. Knives Tries

**Knives Tries**

Knives could not believe that, well over an hour later, he was _still_ in this stuffy room having his subconscious probed by one who wasn't even worthy enough to lick his boots. Legato, for his part, continued to issue muffled sobs, having accumulated an excess of used tissue paper in the receptacle next to him.

Dahlia went on, completely oblivious to the Plant's increasing agitation: "I have found that in each case of compulsive binge eating, without exception, there is an enabler involved... that is, a well-meaning authority figure that not only controls foodstuffs, but also the sufferer's emotional state." She glanced pointedly at Knives before casually thumbing the papers on her clipboard.

"Wait a _damn_ minute," Knives burst out. "You're saying this is MY fault?"

"I wouldn't put it like that," the psychiatrist said, "but I suppose you share a good deal of responsibility..."

The Plant was livid, would have slit the woman's throat without a prior thought – except Legato was still weeping noiselessly, and it wouldn't do any good to give him more reason to cry. Restraining himself, Knives settled deeper into the couch, forced himself to smile; yet there was not an iota of humor to be found in his expression.

"And just how" – he forced these words through clenched teeth, features plastered with false good will – "would you have me rectify these egregious errors that you have accused me of committing?"

"I'm glad you asked that," Dahlia said with a smile. "I would suggest finding creative ways to prevent Mister Bluesummers from binging in the future. Perhaps posting pictures of healthy, happy people on the refrigerator; hiding the cookie jar; stocking up on healthier snacks – "

Knives interrupted. "I have a better idea."

Without exchanging another word, the Plant flew over to his right-hand man's side and administered a near-fatal blow to his back. Legato, in response, screamed and fell to the floor writhing in pain, his spine shattered beyond repair.

Within moments Knives' plan had become all too clear. If Legato couldn't _move_, then he couldn't eat.

The Plant grinned, looked almost childishly proud of himself for having discerned the solution.

"There we go."


	35. I Am Big Girl, Hear Me Roar

**I Am Big Girl, Hear Me Roar**

It was the fifth day of the week, and as was customary on Thursdays – not that Millie felt she could ever quite get the hang of Thursdays, otherwise – one of the small group of travelers was required to go out and replenish foodstuffs.

She was not, of course, aware of whose turn it was this week – only of the fact that the newly stocked groceries were finally _here_ and hers for the taking. She seized several cups of dark, rich pudding and dumped them into a huge bowl. With a little prayer of thankfulness to the gods of dessert, she dug in.

She was not prepared to find herself blanching after one bite.

"Se... Sempai?" she asked timorously, and beneath her quiet words one could detect a glimpse of barely contained emotions – the calm before the storm, so to speak. "Who did the grocery shopping this morning?"

"Um... Vash did, I think," Meryl replied.

"Somebody say my name?" The outlaw stuck his head out from an adjacent room.

"Yes," Millie continued, maintaining her strangely composed tone. "I just wanted to say that...

"THIS IS SUGAR-FREE!" she exploded, bolting up from her chair. She threw the bowl of pudding at Vash, where it struck him point-blank between the eyes; the force sent the gunman reeling onto the tiled kitchen floor, covered with pudding as a war soldier was covered in the fluids of his fallen comrades.

Millie advanced toward him slowly, looking less and less like herself and more and more like an enraged agent of Lucifer.

"What kind of _sick_ person are you, anyway?" the large girl demanded, fury blazing in her eyes as perceptibly as if fire tongues were themselves shooting out at the hapless Vash. "To inflict such atrocities upon an unsuspecting, delicate woman...!"

Those were perhaps the biggest words either Meryl or Vash had heard Millie use in all the time they had known her. The latter whimpered something unintelligible, to which Millie responded with a roar:

"_Didn't see the fine print?_ ...WHAT THE HELL KIND OF EXCUSE IS THAT?"

"H'llo, did I miss something?"

A certain cross-wielding, chain-smoking priest suddenly wandered in, assessed the bizarre scene with a nonchalant air.

"I brought pudding," he announced.

"Nooooooooooo...!" Vash cried at an attempt at warning, but it was too late.

"Oh, you got my favorite," Millie chirped, bounding over to Wolfwood's side as happily as if she hadn't been just inches from crippling Vash a moment ago. "Chocolate-fudge swirl!" she added, producing a spoon from her pocket and tucking into the proffered cup.

"H-how did you do it?" Vash asked weakly when the ordeal had run its course.

"Easy," the priest said, running a weary hand through his messy head of hair. "I noticed the Big Girl was getting testy lately. Figured her Aunt Flo had stopped by to pay a visit."

"And...?" Vash failed to see where this train of thought was taking them.

"Well, what do girls need most when they're on the rag?"

Meryl winced at his choice of words, while Vash hazarded a guess. "Chocolate?"

Nick grinned, glanced over at Millie while she continued to consume sweets at an upwards of Far Too Much. She remained completely oblivious to their little talk.

"Exactly."


	36. Morning Sickness

A/N: Most of the dialogue for this one came from a RP session with Shadsie and Sailor Lilith-chan.

* * *

**Morning Sickness**

The Insurance Girls were preparing breakfast when Vash, as immutably goofy as ever, complained of itchiness behind his neck.

"It's really, really annoying," he explained, all the while feigning tears. He reached out to grab a pancake, but was promptly slapped on the hand.

"So scratch it," Meryl said, unmoved. Millie, the more unabashed of the pair, quickly moved to examine the offended area.

"Oh my," she said after a moment. "Mister Vash, you're sprouting feathers! How did this happen?"

"I dunno," the Plant said weakly, "all I know is I woke up this morning feeling really ill..."

"Oh, so is that what they mean by morning sickness?" Millie replied.

A pause, as everyone sweated bullets.

"Um," Meryl stammered by way of correction. "He – he isn't pregnant, Millie."

"Unless you are," Knives added, who had overheard the exchange from his place at the table. "Then I'll gouge out my eyes, your eyes, and the eyes of everyone in this room."

The big girl grinned, put her hand behind her head in a gesture with which everyone was becoming all too familiar.

"Oops!"


	37. Mad World

**Mad World**

They were men.

Men who reached heights of nearly fifty feels, who considered throwing their siblings at a human target to be little more than an exercise in child's play – the Nebraskas.

Men whose stature rivaled that of Goliath, whose ear lobes weighed down upon either shoulder and whose boomerang could snuff life in an instant – Descartes.

Men who, for whatever reason, wore blades attached to their hands, as well as a convincing mask of fearlessness – Kesskass.

These men and more composed the united effort to kill Vash the Stampede.

"It's a mad, mad world, Tongari," Nicholas intoned solemnly, before the sound of gunfire rang out and forestalled further observations.


	38. Devil's Helper

**Devil's Helper**

Deep within the submerged ship, Vash and Wolfwood were being pursued by an army of deadly robots.

"H-hey, wait up!" Vash called out as the priest turned a corner and disappeared from view. Vash's legs just barely missed being turned into swiss cheese from a spray of bullets, and he lunged after his partner; his coattails, however, were not so lucky.

"Why didn't you wait for me?" the outlaw said as he drew even with Wolfwood, managing to pout even as he panted from exertion. "Now my coat's ruined."

"Well, you know," the priest said conversationally as they ducked behind a strange machine. "God helps those who help themselves."

"I don't think that's in the Bible," Vash said, albeit a little more frenetically. Bullets whizzed on either side of them.

"What are you talkin' about?" Nick shot back, making no attempt to keep his voice hushed as the robots drew closer to their hiding spot. "It's the oldest verse in the book. Then again, it's not like I could expect the Devil's Helper to know any better – "

_"But thou, O Lord, art a shield for me; my glory, and the lifter up of mine head; I will not be afraid of ten thousands of people, that have set themselves against me round about,"_ Vash recited smugly.

The contraption they were leaning against crumbled like fairy dust as the robots unleashed their payload. Vash and Nick were forced onto their backs, staring up into the unpolished metal faceplates of their foes.

"Yeah, well, I think you skipped a verse," Wolfwood said, before they jumped to their feet and ran like hell.


	39. Home

**Home**

"Look at it," Rem said wistfully, indicating the computer screen upon which an image of their new home was superimposed. It was a quaint, orderly sort of place, flanked on either side by geraniums and frequented by a family of three – themselves, presumably? – and a black cat.

The image winked once in the darkness then disappeared, as she ran her fingers through Vash's mane of blond hair.

* * *

He hears the child before he sees her, rummaging through what remains of the trash for abandoned foodstuffs. Her breathing is ragged, dissonant. Chaotic, for lack of a better word.

"You deserved so much better, Rem," he whispers. The image of home flickers once in his mind then disappears, as he reaches down and strokes her tangled mass of black hair.


	40. Cause for Thanks

A/N: I found this pretty fun to write, except I'm not sure anyone on Gunsmoke actually celebrates Thanksgiving... probably if they did, it would be because people found comfort in its message of giving thanks for what little they have, and tailor the American holiday for their own situation.

* * *

**Cause for Thanks**

After Vash's fight with Knives and before his subsequent reformation, Millie had made it a habit of praying over the little group's meal each Thanksgiving. While Knives surely didn't appreciate her efforts – he concluded every prayer with something to the effect of "the Creator's just begging me to wipe your damned kind out" – he did agree to eat the turkey that she and Meryl had slaved over for nearly two days.

Now it was Thanksgiving once again, and after Vash had been customarily handled by Meryl for trying to eat the pumpkin pie and little Nikki had settled down long enough to sit at the table and smile toothily and Knives had brought his spiel against humanity to an untimely close, Millie opened the meal with prayer.

"Dear God," she began with that usual angelic smile that warmed Vash and Meryl's hearts and made Knives turn to thoughts of homicide. "We thank You for this day and this gathering. We know that You have a special purpose for each of us" – here she looked pointedly at Vash's brother – "and that You will help us find a way to fulfill them. That said...

"We thank You that Sempai finally confessed her love for Mister Vash, and that they are now a happily married couple."

Meryl turned three shades of red, before accepting a kiss from the aforementioned object of her affections.

"We thank You that my delivery went off without a hitch, and that little Nikki sits at this table before us alive and well. I'm sure Mister Priest had a hand in this, as well!"

Millie grew quiet then, and faced Knives with an expression of grief and acceptance; the unremorseful Plant had, after all, indirectly engineered her lover's death. Just the same, Millie refused to show hatred. After intimating her gratitude for a few other things – among them the chocolate pudding dessert that awaited them – she reached out and took Knives' hand.

The Plant recoiled, first in disgust, then in genuine discomfit. What did this spider think she was doing, showing him kindness? Didn't she detest him for trying to destroy her race on more than one occasion?

"Finally," Millie said, her eyes growing moist and her voice deep with conviction, "we thank You that Mister Vash didn't kill his brother. Otherwise, he would never be able to enjoy our company or this wonderful meal we are about to eat."

Then, her seriousness disappearing as rapidly as it had manifested, she added cheerfully:

"Oh, and thank You that Mister Knives hasn't destroyed the human race and stuff!"


	41. Black Friday

**Black Friday**

Meryl wasn't much for shopping, but when she did take it upon herself to new buy clothes, she liked to think that she possessed frugality and self-restraint – not to mention some degree of taste.

Unfortunately, these habits were so deeply ingrained in her that she often ended up buying nothing at all.

She was poring over the usual array of outfits – ignoring the fact that it was the day after Thanksgiving and prices were dirt-cheap – when her partner came bounding up, waving a pair of overalls and grinning from ear to ear.

"Sempai, look at this!" Millie cried, holding the article of clothing against the smaller girl's body to check for length. "I think this'll be a real breath of fresh air from your usual wardrobe, and Mister Vash _did_ mention that he liked girls who weren't afraid to dress down-to-earth..."

Meryl allowed herself a smile.

"I think that's perfect."


	42. Playing Hooky

**Playing Hooky**

Lina crossed her arms – still garbed in nightgown and slippers – and adamantly refused to attend school that Friday morning.

"The city of December gets to celebrate the holiday weekend," she pouted, "so why can't Karsted? It just isn't fair!"

"A young lady needs her education," Grandma Sheryl replied, unwavering. Ericks, who had happened to pass by the room while carrying a bundle of clothes for the wash, overheard the conversation and added:

"Aw, c'mon, Grannie. It's not like one day of playing hooky will make that much of a difference in her grades."

"Thank you!" Lina cried, thrilled that someone was on her side for once, while her grandma pursed her lips and pretended to be in deep thought.

"Oh, why not," she said after a moment. "It _is_ nearing Christmastide. But keep in mind, Ericks, that she's _your_ responsibility!"

Ericks grinned insufferably in response. His twelve-year-old charge, for her part, issued a squeal of delight and made straight for the closet, which contained a number of coats to choose from.

It would, after all, be a cold and most eventful day.


	43. I Hate Mondays

**I Hate Mondays**

Kuroneko-sama slunk into the bar, irritation emitting from her in waves, and expressed her wish for a drink in a series of meows that the patrons somehow interpreted as "a stiff one on the rocks, please."

A fat orange tabby on her right drained his glass of bourbon and purred deeply.

She turned to face him, giant yellow eyes fixated on his own half-lidded ones.

"I hate Mondays."

Kuroneko-sama reached for her own drink and _mrrrowwed_ in agreement.


	44. Heaven Can Wait

**Heaven Can Wait**

"Are... are we there yet?" the angel lying below him panted, her chest heaving with labored gasps as his hands helplessly raked her sides.

"I... I don't think so," he returned, just as exhausted. "Just... give it another moment – oh, _there _we go – "

When the orders were relayed to Wolfwood that he was to hand over the Stampede or else, the priest knew what he had to do.

Just the same, he couldn't go without bidding the Thompson girl farewell.

He smiled, gently cupped her face in his hands.

"As far as I'm concerned, honey, Heaven can just _wait."_


	45. Thoroughly Modern Millie

**Thoroughly Modern Millie**

Millie Thompson, ever a bastion of good humor and not-so-common sense, regarded everything her Sempai said as gospel; so when Meryl suggested one day that she could do with a makeover, the big girl took to the idea as readily as a duck to water.

Yet a few hours – and a neon dye job and multiple body piercings – later, Meryl found herself wishing she hadn't brought it up at all.

"I have seen the revolution, and it is pink," she said to Vash and Nicholas later.

Her eyes continued to water from the glare.


	46. Cold

**Cold**

"What I really meant to say... is I'm sorry for the way I am..."

It was no use; Vash's words fell on deaf ears.

For the first time in his century-long life, he felt he understood what it was like to be rejected.

And Meryl, for her part, had had enough of it from him.

The short girl turned her back on him and began to walk away.


	47. Second

**Second**

Knives had been born second.

He didn't, of course, expect Vash to remember such details – the latter being even more of a knucklehead than he had originally surmised. All the same, Knives' pride had been mortally wounded the day he realized, years after their birth, that he had been the second to be extracted from the remains of the SEEDS crew's original Plant.

Knives ripped open the throat of yet another human, still in its death throes. The sound of screaming echoed about the metal walls, music to his ears.

No matter what, Knives would prove himself to be the Alpha male.


	48. Millie's Pet Peeve

**Millie's Pet Peeve**

"You want to know what really grinds my gears?" Millie piped up for no immediately discernable reason while Meryl attempted to set up a Christmas tree next to her desk.

The short woman sighed. Despite having volunteered to decorate the office this year, her holiday spirit was in short supply.

"What, Millie?"

"When people don't write home to their families for Christmas." The big girl held out a stack of letters in her hands, glanced at her meaningfully.

Pointedly avoiding her gaze, Meryl began hanging up ornaments.


	49. Blue Sorrow

**Blue Sorrow**

A single tear rolled down Tessla's cheek as she and her twin sibling surveyed the splayed remains of their elder brother, floating ominously in the large glass vessel.

There was a soft _oomph_ next to her as Knives suddenly passed out. It was the natural reaction to such a traumatic discovery, one she desperately wished she could manufacture.

She unconsciously clenched her fist, drew blood.

"The humans who did this to you... I will crush them," she whispered.

"I will avenge your death, Vash!"


	50. Thy Tender Mercies

A/N: And thus I conclude this series – not with a bang, but a whimper. Sorry, guys.

* * *

**Thy Tender Mercies**

Meryl Stryfe, First Plant Technician and personal assistant to Dr. Bill Conrad, issued a gasp that seemed to go on forever. She continued to stare at the two male babies as they struggled against the vines securing them to their mother's body.

"No... it's like Tessla all over again..."

Her partner and best friend, Millie, was a pacifist. She moved automatically to remove the babies from the prison, nearly slipping in the dead Plant's juices as she did so.

"We _cannot_ tell the others about this."


End file.
